


Boogeyman

by Awarriorscall



Category: Tom Hardy - Fandom, Tommy Conlon - Fandom, Warrior (2011)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awarriorscall/pseuds/Awarriorscall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is still struggling to live in the normal world when a new neighbor is turning his world upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One of these Days

People move, so the U-Haul truck in front of the house next door isn’t something that caught Tommy’s attention. Sure, it is really early and aside from nutcases like him that go for a run at 4 AM because he has given up on sleep, there is nobody else around. But he can’t be bothered to care one bit about other people when he is struggling to care about his family every day, so he heads down the road in his usual tempo, for the usual morning run. There will be an afternoon run and maybe even a midnight run. Tommy does a lot of running lately and if anyone bothers to ask they will receive a snarky comment about how running is what he does best.

After Sparta he spent a total of eight weeks in jail before they sent him back to complete his tour of duty. Tommy would have rather stayed in jail than face all the shit again, see more people die. But that time he knew better than to let himself care about anyone because they could die on him, too. When he returned he found that Paddy had yet again made an attempt to be sober and that also meant that Tommy couldn’t drink at the house anymore. He is reluctant to call it home, he has left that place years ago and even back then it wasn’t really a home. Home does not involve a drunk father beating the shit out of your mother. Tommy checks his phone as he rounds the corner that will bring him back to their street. Enough time to shower and have breakfast before he has to go visit his therapist. It has started out with him sitting in the office, arms crossed in front of his chest and muttering expletives, refusing to do anything but be physically present. They had forced him to go as a part of the whole deal and he didn’t see why. It took a few months for him to thaw a little and now, after almost a year, he actually feels better. Sort of.

The truck is still in the driveway and now he notices two children. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. But their behavior is odd. The older is maybe six, and the boy is trying to carry boxes that are obviously way too heavy for him. The girl is younger, maybe three or four, and that tiny little girl is dragging a bag. The door of the truck is open and there aren’t many things in it, why they even bothered to rent a truck is beyond him. Then he sees the woman and things fall into place. Tommy doesn’t need to get closer to notice her limp, the way she moves with great care as if she is sore all over. And sunglasses at five in the morning when it’s already sort of light out but the sun doesn’t have any power yet whatsoever. Tommy’s eyes wander back to the children and something happens to his stomach. He has been there and if he didn’t know it any better he would say that he feels something like compassion for those kids. But of course he doesn’t, he’s not a compassionate guy. And he doesn’t like people.

That’s precisely why he walks up the driveway, in his ratty old sweatpants and a black hoodie, covered in sweat and looking more like a homeless guy than anything. “Need a hand with that?” he grumbles and he has to admire the fact that the kids merely stop and look at him, curious. They don’t seem to be afraid of him, which he always expects when he is around children. “I don’t think we do. Thanks though.” The woman looks tiny up close. Tommy doesn’t see the freckles or the reddish curls, the fact that she is probably fairly pretty. All he sees is the ugly bruise peeking out underneath her big sunglasses and her split bottom lip. “Look, lady. I got some time to spare and unless you want your kids to help you pack those beds I’m gonna help you whether you like it or not.” It doesn’t occur to him that most people would think it is extremely impolite to talk to a stranger like that, or that they would assume that a woman that has most likely been beaten by her partner shouldn’t be talked to like that. But Tommy isn’t most people so he doesn’t even think about it. He does know a thing or two about refusing help even though it is needed and asking nicely never did the trick for him.

The redhead stares at him for a few moments, hands on her hips and he has to assume that she is glaring, but it’s hard to tell with the sunglasses. His eyes wander up her bare arms and there are more bruises to be found, some fading and some brand new. Tommy feels the familiar rise of anger inside him and it still feels like home. It’s familiar and comfortable and he is sure that the anger is visible on his face now, that deep frown with a glare that successfully gets most people to submit and ensures that his opponents don’t feel all too cocky.

Sure enough he feels something against his leg as the little boy squeezes past him to stand between him and his mom. “You can go now, we don’t need you. Stop staring at my mom.” It’s gut wrenching, a painful reminder of his own little self and all the thoughts about how children shouldn’t be exposed to something like that. No little boy should feel the need to protect his mother like that, to throw himself between her and a stranger like him. That boy should be playing with whatever it is kids are into these days and worry about school and ball games and his favorite sports team. His reaction is instinctual as he crouches down to be at eye level with the boy that is giving him a fantastic death glare that would probably make other people laugh. Tommy understands the little boy’s urge to protect his mother all too well and so he wouldn’t dream of not taking him seriously. “Look man, I can tell that you’re handlin’ things here pretty well, but I’m thinkin’ your mom might need a break. What do you say?”

It could be heartbreaking, the way the boy looks at Tommy, seriously considering the pros and cons, looking over the stranger that dared to intrude. The kid worries way too much about things he shouldn’t, instead of being a kid he tries to be the man of the house and Tommy has opened up enough in therapy to be able to not only recognize the behavior but link it to his own past. Mike, his therapist, will have a field day when Tommy tells him about it. And he will because if he doesn’t talk Mike will and it only took a few weeks of detailed recollections of Star Wars conventions and some strange LARP meetings to make Tommy realize that he really, really needs to be the one talking.

If he would spare a moment to look at the mother he would see her relax somewhat, maybe even figure out what so few seem to understand - most mothers judge those around them by the way they interact with their children. And Tommy obviously picked the right strategy, although it is anything but. The boy frowns again, then holds out his hand. “I’m Colin, that’s my sister Keeva.” Tommy shakes his hand and it seems so tiny compared to his, its disturbing. “Nice to meet you. I’m...” “Tommy. I know. My dad watched your fights.” The urge to flinch is definitely there, but as with everything in life there are assholes everywhere. They just seem to really pile up in MMA. The mom is almost smiling now and Tommy can’t help but check for missing teeth. All there, at least something. “I’m Briana. Now about those beds...”

Half an hour later he opens the door to the house, Paddy’s house, and is headed for the basement. He is fairly certain that he has seen tools around there somewhere. His father is sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper over his coffee. They have been tiptoeing around each other, in an awkwardly polite way avoiding to talk about anything but food, grocery shopping and fighting. Mike says that Tommy has to talk to his pop at some point but Tommy could think of a few hundred things he’d rather do. Another tour of duty, maybe. Give in to the people that want him to talk about his experiences overseas, do a few talk shows. Maybe have someone pull out his fingernails. Once he is done with that list he might talk to Paddy. Until then they will be awkward and strange and distant, it suits him just fine. “Did you get lost on the way?” comes from somewhere behind the newspaper. “Helped the neighbors move in.” “I’ve seen the kids running around when I got up. Their mom must be really pretty.” Tommy frowns at the newspaper, hackles instantly rising at the sheer implication of him just doing that to get laid. “Gee, I don’t know pop. Hard to tell under all the cuts ‘n bruises.” The hands holding the newspaper stiffen and shake ever so slightly and Tommy saunters away, once again winning one of their little exchanges. It should feel good, shouldn’t it. But he feels like a piece of shit every time and that’s just not right.

Another hour later and he sits in Mike’s office. Where Tommy is all muscles and anger and deep rooted issues Mike is all brains and cheer and deep rooted issues. The guy is nerdy and cerebral and under any other circumstances they probably wouldn’t have talked to each other at all. Tommy likes him, not as a friend because you don’t befriend your therapist and he doesn’t do the friends thing anyway. But he’s alright. And honestly still the closest thing to a friend he has. Mike walks in, dark hair combed back and looking more like a boy ready for church than a grown man that did go to university. Tommy always wants to grab him and ruffle his hair a little, but he would probably break Mike like a twig just by touching him. “Well, hello there Tommy. Welcome to another edition of Fifty Shades of Frown. What are we talking about today? Do you have something to share, because if not I have this amazingly entertaining story about that woman I met on eHarmony...” Alarm bells go off in Tommy’s head. No, he doesn’t want to hear about another failed attempt at dating. Nobody wants to hear it and that’s probably why Mike shares those things. At some point Tommy did suggest he’d get a therapist himself and Mike laughed at him. Tommy was serious though. It seems like those who are the craziest - at least the maximum right before the kind of crazy that gets locked up - are the ones that study psychology. But that might be an interesting topic to ponder during his next sleepless night. “Online dating, really?” Tommy smirks at the smaller man that has now taken a seat on the couch facing the one currently straining to not fall apart under Tommy’s weight. The furniture in Mike’s office has definitely seen better days. “Yes, really. Just because you can pull off your shirt and stand outside glaring for no longer than two minutes before women start to fling themselves at you doesn’t mean that applies to the nerds in this room. If I do that I get a few looks of disgust and if I’m lucky a restraining order.” Mike claims that the sarcasm is part of his jewish heritage, Tommy thinks he’s just full of shit, but he chuckles nonetheless. “A’ight Mike, do you get paid to wail ‘bout your shortcomings or can I tell you ‘bout my innermost feelings." "I'm not sure I can handle that but go ahead and try me." Eyes shift around the room, a procedure Mike is all too familiar with by now. Even if talking is a little easier now, after almost a year, there are still many things to work on and Tommy needs to find an inanimate object to talk to. Mike might be surprised that the whole time they have been doing this it wasn't him but a little figurine of Chewbacca that Tommy has been talking to and Mike or the person cleaning his office keeps moving it around. "We got new neighbors this morning. A woman, two kids. She got away from her boyfriend, he beat her good." "Please tell me you didn't go look for him." That interruption is obviously not welcome, but after a few seconds the frown melts into a smirk. "Why doc, you really know me don't you." "Tommy!" "Nah I'll wait for him to come find them." Mike sighs, exasperated and Tommy grins. They banter their way through every therapy session and the girl at the front desk, who has a phenomenal crush on that patient often wonders what is going on in there. Unfortunately she can't hear anything but mumbling on the other side of the door.


	2. A Broken Man And The Dawn

The next time he sees Briana is at two in the morning when he heads out to run a little, hoping he might get tired enough to pass out for a few hours. Tommy knows he won’t anyway, but apparently he is just a fool that doesn’t give up hope. It dies last, doesn’t it. 

Briana is running up and down the steps to their house like a maniac and he pauses to watch her for a bit, feet apart, arms crossed in front of his broad chest. After about two minutes he gives up trying to figure out what the hell she is doing and walks closer to ask her. Again something Mike would have a field day with. Or will. Because after Tommy told him about meeting Briana he will most likely not shut up until Tommy presents some news in that area. He said Tommy needs to socialize more, even though he thinks that planting his fist in other guy’s faces is all the socializing a guy needs, thank you very much.

When he is close enough to risk her running into him she looks up, her mind obviously just returning from an entirely different solar system. “Tryin’ to wear the stairs down?” he asks and one could almost think he is smirking. But in the middle of the night with street lights casting all kinds of shadows one could falsely assume such thing. The girl is panting and now, without her sunglasses, the bruise around her eye looks even worse. There is a thick patch of scab right on her cheekbone and Tommy is fairly certain that the asshole that beat her was wearing a ring. “I was hoping that I could get them to lower the rent if we don’t have front steps. If I keep this up maybe I'll have them worn down in a few years." He notices that she tries to turn her head away so the bruised side of it is hidden, but how anyone could overlook something so obvious is beyond him. Once his mother didn't leave the house in two weeks when Paddy had slammed her into the wall, bruising her face in the process. It was the only time he hit her face and reading up on this has taught Tommy that those guys are the worst. They reign in their anger enough to remember not to leave bruises where they can't be covered. That thought doesn't help with the healing and reconciliation process at all.

"Is this part of some elaborate training schedule or is the sandman skipping you over, too?" Tommy frowns at her question, trying to decide what the best answer would be. Of course there is no such thing but he mulls it over in his head. He is the type of guy who has a hard time lying, it bothers him and it shows, making him on of the worst liars according to his family. And his therapist. "Either running or drinking and I try to stay away from that shit." While he was still busy trying to find an answer some part of his brain stealthily sneaked past security and answered. Briana just nods and leans back against the railing. Or at least she tries to, because it gives way under her weight and breaks with a loud crack, sending her reeling sideways. Tommy has seen it coming and jumps forward, steadying her with both hands on her shoulders and pushing her back into an upright position. When he was eight he found a bird in the yard that had crashed into a window and holding it in his hands had felt the same. So brittle, fragile. How anyone could beat someone that seems like they could be crushed so easily is beyond him.

"Do you want some tea? I have a few mixes that are supposed to help you fall asleep." Tea. Tommy can honestly say that he has never been invited to drink tea before. Usually if a woman invites him into her home at this time of night it is definitely not with the intention of serving him hot beverages. "They work?" he mutters as he follows Briana into the house, as usual seeming as if his teeth are glued together. "Not really, or I wouldn't be here, would I." she chuckles. "Well I got some pills next door that they probably use to sedate elephants." Normal people are always so shocked by statements like this. Briana giggles and goes about collecting mugs and various tins of teas. "Sounds like we could have a cocktail party right now. But I don't want to be a sedated elephant when the kids are here. Just... in case."

Just in case he comes back probably. Tommy doesn't meddle but he wants to ask her what happened, why she stayed with a guy that treated her like shit. He doesn't need Mike to figure out that his mother dying before he worked up the courage to ask her is partially responsible for the mess he is now. The mess he, for some insane reason, is trying to fix. There is a magnet board right next to the phone, he knows because he drilled the holes for it. Instead of being in the way he walks over and grabs a marker, scribbling down his number in his boyish, slightly awkward handwriting. In blue, he always liked blue. "Ever need somethin', call me." His gaze is intense when he looks at her, he can see she wants to say something but she is scrambling to find the right words. They are obviously not okay and if that bastard shows up he's sure she won't be fine. "Call the cops, then call me. They got their ziploc bags to take him away."

And he means it. Taking him away from his father when she did was probably the best thing his mother could have done, in spite of everything. At least it saved him a life sentence in prison for killing his father. There is no doubt even in his own mind that once he got strong enough he would have turned on Paddy Conlon to give him a taste of his own medicine and he is also sure that he wouldn't have been able to stop. Brandon didn't because he had something to focus on, something good in his life that was worth fighting for - or not fighting for. A big step towards reconciliation between the two brothers was Tommy realizing that Tess was Brandon's lifeline in all of this and that leaving her behind meant choosing to become just as screwed up as Tommy. It took a while to get past the resentment, the butthurt of a headstrong teen that Tommy still harbored, fostered like it was an integral part of him. 

"I'll keep that in mind." Briana says and for now it's good enough for Tommy. Usually his cell phone is buried somewhere in the duffel bag he takes to the gym, pretending it matters to him when it doesn't in the slightest. He hates being available at all times to agents and coaches, like a slave, and he only checks to see if his brother called. They try to talk once a week, sometimes conversation starts out strained because Tommy isn't a great conversationalist on some days, but they manage. He gets pictures of his nieces and they get pictures of a huge stray tomcat that adopted him. Tommy calls him Cat and the girls love that big, orange thing.

Briana leads him into the living room and they sit down on an old couch Tommy found in Paddy's basement. The old man hung on to a lot of things they donated, or at least Tommy did. His father didn't have much to say after Tommy mentioned her bruises. He can feel her looking at him and he turns to stare back. It's not an angry glare, more curious, but on his face it's hard to tell the difference for most people.

Before they can say anything there is a blood curdling scream, but by Briana's reaction he can tell that it's nothing out of the ordinary. Something to worry about, but not an intruder wielding a knife. Tommy stays rooted to the spot while he hears her comforting her son, a few minutes later he hears water run. It all becomes background noise to scenes from his own past. Long before the war, before people began yapping about PTSD, he had nightmares that made him wake up screaming, sheets soaked in sweat and tangled around him. Every beating he and his brother received, that their mother had to endure, was relived in great detail. Once, when he was six, he woke up realizing he had wet himself. Unfortunately his father noticed, too and he made him stay in that bed all night before beating him senseless. Tommy didn't sleep for days, fearing it would happen again.

Briana walks in, Colin half hidden behind her and looking ashamed. "I'll be right back to get you sweetheart, I just have to find new sheets okay?" The boy nods and curls up on the couch, drawing his knees up to his chin. Once his mother left he cautiously peeks at Tommy. Most kids are afraid of monsters in their closet or under their bed at some point, but how do you console a kid that knows the boogeyman is their own father?

"You want some tea? It helps elephants sleep." Technically it's his pills that could probably do that, but it's not really a lie and seeing the boy grin is well worth it.

When Briana comes back ten minutes later Colin and Tommy are deep in a discussion about comic book heroes and the boy is about to drift off. But when she tries to pick him up he protests until Tommy offers to carry him. When the boy is tucked in Tommy leans over to look at him. "If anythin' happens over here you come over 'n get me, a'ight." The boy nods eagerly and Tommy leaves the room to give the boy and his mother some privacy. He hates meddling and he never bothers to get attached to people, so one could ask why he gets involved at all. Back when they were all living here everybody knew what was going on, but nobody ever did anything and he keeps wondering if things could have been different if just one person had the balls to help them. And Tommy will be damned if he doesn't at least try to be that one person.


End file.
